


Canton Everett Delaware III

by madness_and_smiles



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madness_and_smiles/pseuds/madness_and_smiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canton has spent most of his life running away</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canton Everett Delaware III

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this a while ago and thought it would be nice to have it as my first piece on AO3. It's not very good or anything but meh. Maybe one day I'll rewrite it. It's fine for now though.

When you have a stammer, Canton Everett Delaware III is a hell of a name to lug around. Canton realized this on the first day of school when he was sent to stand in the corner for stuttering so badly through his own name that he didn’t even reach the III. Mrs. Hollrah then said that if he hadn’t thought about what he wanted to say, he shouldn’t try to say it at all. One day far in the future, Canton would call his teacher a “bitch of the highest degree” but at the time he didn’t know what a degree was, let alone a bitch.  
Standing in the corner Canton did exactly what his teacher told him to do, he thought about what he wanted to say. He thought about his name. In his mind he sounded out each individual portion. Canton with its hard C and Everett with its repetitive vowels and Delaware, with its funny w. He could see a future of jeers and mispronunciations. He began to fear geography tests prematurely. And then he hit the III.  
He knew what the III meant. His father was named Canton Everett Delaware, and his Grandfather was named Canton Everett Delaware. Even though his parents had never said it out loud, Canton understood that while a JR may be a coincidence or flattery, a III was different. It was an expectation of a IV. Canton was 6 years old and facing an old paneled wall in a small school house in Tucson and suddenly he was filled with dread, but he wasn’t able to say why.   
When Canton was finally allowed to step away from the wall, after all of the other kids had returned from recess, he was once again asked what his name was. He stuttered once, but then said quite clearly,  
“Tony Delaware.”  
Canton spent the next portion of his life running. He ran from his stutter, he ran from his name, and he ran from something deeper, something he was slowly being able to define. He ran in metaphorical ways. He kept his mouth shut and spoke in quick short sentences, he only wrote Tony on official forms and left the III out, and he took girls on dates. He also ran in literal ways, through the dusty streets of his hometown. For every time he stuttered, for every wrong thought he had, he would run and run.  
In time there were changes. Canton grew lean, with knotted muscles and tan skin. His tongue finally found its way around words, but the sentences stayed short. The thoughts however, those never changed. They weren’t dirty, not really. They were mostly things like holding hands and quick kisses at the cinema. Though there was one thought that meant more. When people told him to picture his future he never saw a wife and 2.5 kids standing next to a white picket fence. He saw himself on the hood of a car in the Arizona desert staring up at the stars, and even though it was always too dark to see the face Canton knew that the person next to him was a man.  
Canton continued running. He ran so fast and so far that before he knew it he was in a war in Europe. It’s not that he felt like he had something to prove, Canton would never put it in those terms, it’s just it was the right thing for him to do, both morally and personally. It was hard to ignore the chance to both combat evil and immerse himself in the “right” environment. He learned how to shoot a gun, how to take orders, and how to love his country. Not necessarily for what it was at the moment, but for all of the promises he really believed it would fulfill one day.   
There were things that changed for Canton then. You can’t go through a war without being changed in some way. But the big things did not change. He was still known as Tony Delaware, and the thoughts in his head stayed the same. They stayed the same on VE Day, they stayed the same on VJ Day, and they stayed the same after the war was all through, when Canton decided to remain in the military rather than taking the GI Bill up on its offer and finishing college.  
And then, three years after the war, something interesting happened; the armed forces were integrated. Canton went to work that morning, personally as happy as a clam about the recent executive order, and amidst the grumbling rednecks and brash officers he saw him. He was sitting down calmly, dressed in military fatigues that seemed a little old, and was listening to some friend who gestured too much with his friends.   
Suddenly it was that thing, that thing that he had been running from for so long, except in the two seconds since Canton set his eyes on the man it had caught up to him. Years of running, and now it was all over him. The thing was screaming in his ears and shoving into his face and Canton could feel it exploding inside his gut but all he could see was the car in the desert and maybe if he turned his head the face he would see could be…  
“Excuse me? Can I help you with something?”  
Canton looked up at the man in front of him, easily half a foot taller than Canton, and blinked. He had been caught.   
After a couple moments of awkward stuttering, something that left Canton red in the face, he introduced himself as Tony Delaware and asked if the man would like to sit down and talk somewhere. The man, James Perkins he called himself, nodded and together they sat down on a bench. Canton wasn’t thinking about the integration, he was thinking of the warmth in James’s eyes and the white of his smile, but according to his commanding officer he was the first white soldier to talk to a black soldier all day.   
Their friendship became the example used by the more progressive officers. This was fine with Canton, because it meant a way to spend more time with James. Who could be suspicious of furthering race relations? He learned that James was from New York and had two sisters. He learned that James played baseball in high school, as well as the trumpet. James loved strawberry parfaits, he hated impressionist paintings, and he was afraid of elephants. Canton didn’t know what James knew about him. He didn’t know if James catalogued every bit of info the same way, or if James kept a running list of what-might-be-considered affection gestures like he did, but it was okay because just having James around was enough.  
Then one day Canton answered a knock at the door of his military compound house. It was almost too dark to see who was there but he could just make out James’s profile against the light of the distant street lamp.   
“Tony, I’m leaving the army tomorrow, going FBI.” At first there was a surge of rage followed by panic. Why would James go to the FBI? Why didn’t James tell him sooner? How could James leave him? But then, but then Canton stepped aside and let James into the house and flipped the light switch on and thought about the fact that it was 3 am and James was wringing the hem of his shirt in his hands and not exactly meeting his eyes and the rage died down a bit and he wanted to ask so many questions and know so many things but mostly all he could do was barely part his lips and say  
“Oh.” Which he could tell just made James even more nervous because he started chewing on his lip. And James paced on one side of the room, and then to the other while Canton shifted from one foot to another and wished that it wasn’t so damn cold in his stupid military house. It took another second of awkwardness before James finally stopped pacing and went up to Canton.  
“Look Tony I just… I need to know. Do you…” James couldn’t finish the sentence and looked away. Canton, for the first time since he was 6 years old, began running in the opposite direction.  
“My name isn’t Tony Delaware. Or well, I guess it is technically. But my name is Canton. Canton Everett Delaware III.” It had been so long since Canton said his full name that it almost hurt the back of his throat, but he said the whole thing without a stammer and for the first time since James knocked on his door their eyes met. That’s when James kissed him.  
In the next week, Tony Delaware retired from the military and Canton Everett Delaware III joined the FBI.


End file.
